Follow Your Arrow, Wherever It Points
by flashwitch
Summary: In the middle of battle, Clint goes off comm. Everything that follows is not his fault, but of course he'll blame himself. Latest in the Give Me Direction Verse, direct sequel to Finding North With a Broken Compass.
1. Chapter 1

**The title comes from a Kacy Musgraves song of the same name.**

**This story is finished, but will be posted in chapters. I will be editing as I go, please let me know if you notice mistakes etc.**

**Warnings at the end, please check if you have triggers.**

Clint curled up against the railing of the balcony and pressed his face into his knees. They knew. They all knew and they were all treating him differently, just like he knew they would. First came the kid gloves and the pitying looks and soon they'd be telling him to leave. That he wasn't good enough. That the Avengers wasn't a team for broken people.

Fucking truth serum. Well, it was more like a spray actually. Possibly a pollen. He got dosed with it pretty good and it screwed him up for days and he told them everything. All his secrets. He pressed hard on the bandage on his forearm and it hurt in a good way. A good, clean, mind clearing way. He closed his eyes.

"You want to come inside?" Bruce asked, leaning out of the door. "It can't be comfortable out there."

Clint didn't reply. He'd barely said two words since the effects had worn off, which was kind of freaking everybody out. Coulson said not to worry, and it made Clint smile, because Coulson had seen him like this before. Bruce was coping with it better than Clint would have expected too. But then, Bruce was always surprising him.

"Clint?"

Clint didn't respond, just turned further towards the railing.

"Okay." Bruce sighed. "Okay. Stay out here for as long as you need. But my floor is open to you whenever you want. And I'd like it if you ate something at some point."

He wasn't hungry.

* * *

_There was something about the pattern of the fighting. Something that he was missing. Coulson frowned and watched as Romanov was covered with a vile smelling substance that made her yelp and scratch at the skin wherever it touched._

_"They're trying to isolate us," Hawkeye said suddenly, and yes, that was it. "It's a trap. They're trying to get an Avenger to take home to Mom."_

_"Aren't you supposed to be off looking after the kids?" Sitwell asked, coming to stand beside Phil._

_"The kid's are on stand down until Skye completes basic training and Ward's arm heals. Don't ask."_

_There was a yelp and Phil's attention was back on the battle in an instant. "Hawkeye, report. Are you injured?"_

_"I've got a gash on my leg and they sprayed some kind of... fuck." The comm went dead._

_"Hawkeye. Hawkeye, report!"_

_"He tossed his comm," Stark said, sounding shocked. "Some of the henchmen cornered him, he beat them back, but they hit him with some kind of chemical. And then he took out his earpiece and threw it away."_

_"Can you still see him?"_

_"I- Argh! Fuck, that's acid, it's eating right through the suit, fuck." Stark shook like a marionette on a string, jerking about in an effort to shake off the spray._

_"I'll take that as a no. Anyone have eyes on Hawkeye?"_

_There was a round of worried sounding no's followed by swearing from Natasha._

_"Well," Sitwell said, "I'll get some agents out looking for him, but you can't leave the fight," he was speaking to Phil at first, but when he continued, it was clear he was talking to the Avengers as well. "None of you can go after him right now."_

_"We know that," Steve snapped back. "Besides, I doubt these guys would helpfully step aside and let us leave."_

_One of the henchmen Steve was fighting threw a cup of something at him and it stuck wherever it hit._

_"What's that, some kind of glue?" Natasha asked, frowning as Steve stopped dead in his tracks._

_"Ah, I can get free. It just means losing a little skin."_

_"No, you can never get free from The Chemist!" the head bad guy had arrived with perfect timing and a melodramatic evil laugh._

_"Really? The Chemist?" Stark asked, he was back in the fight and in a different suit than he'd been in before. "That's all you could come up with? Not Dr Elemental? As in the periodic table?" He laughed, the noise sudden and pure and not nearly as melodramatic as The Chemist's. "Also, when you throw your chemical compounds at people, you should totally shout 'by these elements combined!'"_

_"That's not bad," The Chemist replied, rubbing his chin. "But it's all theatre isn't it?" And with that he tossed a vial at Tony which threw up sparks instantly, and started to burn through the metal. But, it didn't get far. The suit released some kind of white foam which stopped whatever chemical it was in its tracks._

_"Nice try, but once I realised what we were dealing with I got changed, got an outfit for everything," Stark grinned viciously behind his mask and Steve made a pained grunt as he ripped free of the glue. "Normally I love witty repartee as much as the next guy, but right now, I'm angry. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry." There was a series of loud crashes. "That would be Black Widow and Hulk taking out the last of your henchmen."_

_"And you're surrounded," Coulson said, "by SHIELD."_

_"And no one's very happy with you right now," Steve added. "So why don't you tell us what exactly it was that you dosed Hawkeye with?"_

_"CHEMIST HURT HAWK! HULK SMASH!"_

_"No!"_

_"Someone stop him!"_

_"We need him to figure out what happened to Clint!"_

* * *

_The next few seconds are chaos._

* * *

_When things calmed down, The Chemist was lying broken on the ground, and Bruce was lying next to him, unconscious with one of Clint's tranq arrows sticking out of his leg._

_"Did anyone see where that came from?" Coulson barked. He got a chorus of no's. Again. "Find him."_

_The agents began tidying up. The injured (including Bruce, The Chemist and Steve) were loaded up onto ambulances and sent back to SHIELD HQ to take advantage of the infirmary. Natasha was searching the alley ways and they had agents going up to the surrounding rooftops, looking for Clint. A couple of Sitwell's team rounded up the henchmen, loading them into vans. When that was done, Coulson frowned and looked around. He was hoping to find something else that needed doing, but everything was under control._

_Then, something happened. The last thing anyone was expecting. Clint stepped out, from who knows where, but he stepped out and walked over until he was standing directly in front of Phil._

_Then he dropped to his knees._

_He dropped to his knees in front of his team, in front of myriad SHIELD agents and first responders, he dropped to his knees in front of the world. He'd never done that before. In an instant, Phil was kneeling too, reaching out to Clint, wanting to touch, to reassure himself Clint was real. Clint ducked his head._

_"Don't," he said. "They sprayed me with something. You don't want it on your skin."_

_"Okay." Coulson held up his hands. "Okay. I'm not going to touch you." He pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Update on Banner."_

_"He's still unconscious," was the response. "And he probably isn't going to wake up for at least eight hours. Maybe ten or twelve."_

_"Great." Coulson shook his head, then smiled at Clint. "Bruce is fine. He's sleeping it off."_

_"Good," some of the tension slipped out of Clint, as Natasha and Tony both arrived on the scene, standing too close. "That's good."_

_"You want to tell me about why you went off comm?"_

_"They dosed me. Some kind of disinhibitor. I can't lie. And I don't really want to."_

_Coulson considered that for a moment._

_"Fuck."_

_"What? He got sprayed with truth serum? That's why you went off comm?" Tony shook his head, laughing a little. "You scared the hell out of us, you dick."_

_"This is serious," Coulson said, and Natasha nodded, looking pale._

_"He just has to keep his mouth closed," Tony said. "And no one here's going to ask him anything. Well, not anything that might incriminate him." He tilted his head and Phil just knew he was smirking behind the faceplate. "Hey, Clint, what's your favourite colour?"_

_"I don't-Purple." Clint flinched, like he'd been hit and then just looked really confused._

_"You don't purple?" Tony asked and Natasha made a low noise in her throat and smacked the back of his helmet._

_"I don't have a favourite colour. I've never had a favourite colour."_

_"What's your favourite colour Clint?" Phil asked, his heart aching at the confusion on Barton's face._

_"Purple," Clint repeated, his tone more sure but surprised at the same time. He ducked his head. "Please."_

_"Yeah," Phil said. "Okay."_

* * *

Bruce leaned against the wall beside the balcony door for a long moment. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard and tried not to think of all the ways the past couple of days had gone horribly wrong.

Then he headed back to the common room where all the others were gathered. It wasn't good to be alone.

"How is he?" Phil asked as soon as Bruce was sat down with the rest of them.

"Not good. He's refusing to come inside."

"Is he..." Steve pulled a face, obviously unsure of what he wanted to say. "You don't think he'd hurt himself, do you?"

"No," Bruce replied immediately. "He's a little self destructive, but he's not suicidal."

"He didn't ask about suicide," Phil put in, "and we both know that Clint punishes himself more than he should."

"But that's different and can be dealt with. He's not going to jump off the balcony."

"We sure about that?" Tony asked. He was warming a glass of scotch between his palms but he hadn't taken a sip. "I mean, it seems like most of us didn't know him at all." He glanced at Natasha who hadn't really spoken since the big reveal.

"We must not over crowd him," Thor said. "From what has been said you have erred that way before."

"You're right, he needs his space. But he also needs to know we're here for him." Phil sighed and ran a hand down his face. His tie was loose around his collar and two buttons on his shirt had been undone, a sign of just how much the past two days had taken out of him. "It's a fine line and one I've fallen over before."

Natasha stood up and left without a word.

* * *

**Notes:**

**WARNINGS: self harm, self destructive behaviour, self hate, past abuse-present environment is safe, hints of PTSD. Also, there may be hints of non-con later as Clint has some mild sexual contact while under the influence. Not explicit, and neither party sees it as rape as they are in a loving relationship and Clint would have consented if he was in his right mind. **


	2. Chapter 2

Clint was getting cold but he didn't want to go inside yet. He wasn't ready to have the conversations he knew were waiting for him. They'd ask him why he didn't tell them. Whether he was still fit for the team. Natasha would be hurt. Bruce would be worried. Steve would be disappointed. And Clint just wasn't capable of dealing with all that emotion, not right now. He banged his head against the railing. Stupid. So fucking stupid. He should have dodged the spray. He should have been more careful. He should have been able to keep his stupid mouth shut.

He was fine. he just needed to get his head on straight before they all started asking questions and looking at him like...

"Agent Barton?" JARVIS said, his voice tentative. "The temperature has dropped significantly. Would you care to come inside?"

"Or what?" Clint said, his voice lifeless even to his own ears. "You'll call the others to drag me in?"Maybe he still had some of the drug in his blood stream after all.

There was a pause.

"No. But would you allow me to get Bruce, or Phil?"

"I'm not a child anymore. I can take care of myself."

"No one doubts that," JARVIS replied.

"Yeah they do," Clint sighed. He leaned his head back against the railing, wincing slightly."And I don't blame them."

* * *

_They got Clint to SHIELD and into an isolation room in short order. The first thing he did was strip off, before Coulson, Natasha and Stark could even leave the room, and get into the shower. He scrubbed every hint of the spray off his body, but tore the wound in his leg even wider as he did so._

_When he got out, a young woman in a jumper and a lab coat was waiting for him._

_"Agent Barton? I'm Dr Simmons. I'm here to treat your leg and run some tests."_

_"You're one of Phil's." He shook his head and rubbed a hand across his mouth. "Coulson's."_

_"I am part of his team, yes. We actually met once before, briefly. Now, first thing is to see to that leg."_

_Her touch is firm and professional, although she's a little rougher than he's used to. SHIELD Med and Stark's private doctors have spoiled him. It's nothing he can't take._

_She's efficient, getting him stitched and bandaged quickly, but she doesn't shut up the whole time she was working._

_"There we go! Wouldn't want to get infected, would we?"_

_"No, but it's not the worst injury I've ever had," Clint said, then ducked his head and pressed the heel of his hand to his lips. There's an awkward moment of silence, and then Simmons spoke in the same cheerful tone she'd used the whole time._

_"I'm going to take a blood sample now." She changed her gloves and grabbed a needle and a vacutainer from a tray. "Now, I'm going to put in a cannula because we're going to be doing repeated blood draws to test the levels of whatever this thing is. Hopefully, we'll be able to see a reduction of it over time."_

_She took two tubes full and then stripped off her gloves and stepped back, sitting on a nearby stool._

_"Now," she liked that word. Clint could tell. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions about how the drug is affecting you. I'm sorry, I know this is going to be difficult. I'd say you don't have to answer, but given your reactions, I think the drug will make you. And I need to know. I will say I'll only ask medically relevant questions." She waited until he nodded. "Right. So how are you feeling?"_

_And wasn't that a loaded question._

_"Exposed," was the first word out of his mouth and he flinched. "Fuzzy, drunk."_

_"Dizziness? Nausea? Headache?"_

_"All of the above."_

_"Okay. I'm sorry, I can't really do anything about that right now. We still don't know what you were dosed with, so we can't give you anything. It might interact badly."_

_"Yeah. I guessed that." he shrugged. "Nothing I can't deal with."_

_"Okay, that's good, I guess." She looked nervous and he wanted to smile at her, reassure her, so he let the corner of his mouth twitch up. She frowned. "Lowered inhibitions?"_

_"Yes. No. I don't know. It's kind of hard to keep track of that kind of thing. I mean, when you're drunk and dancing on the table, you don't suddenly stop and go 'hey, this isn't the sort of thing I usually do. The alcohol must have lowered my inhibitions.' You just dance."_

_"And do you feel like dancing?"_

_"I'm not the dancing sort. Now singing..." He blinked and his face went blank, the smile that had started disappearing in an instant._

_"I'm going to say that's a yes on the lowered inhibitions," Simmons said and Clint ducked his head and rubbed at his mouth. "Okay," she said and she patted his shoulder awkwardly. He flinched. "I'm going to go and get your blood tested." She picked up the vials of blood and walked out, locking the door behind her._

_Clint was alone._

* * *

_Bruce woke up slowly, to familiar sounds and smells. He was surrounded by his team, in the medical bay of SHIELD HQ. He smiled a little. It was nice having a team to be surrounded by._

_"Hey, he's waking up," and that was Tony. Bruce let his eyes flutter open before Tony started poking him with something sharp._

_"Hey guys," he said, his throat dry. He looked around then frowned. "Where's Clint?" Phil stepped forward. The others didn't know about Bruce and Clint's... whatever it was._

_"He's in an isolation suite. He was dosed with some sort of disinhibitor."_

_"Is he hurt?"_

_"His leg needed a few stitches, but he's isolated due to the chemical. He can't lie." And suddenly, Bruce understood. Of course Clint wouldn't want everyone around him if he couldn't lie. And with a disinhibitor, he'd have little control over his actions. He sat up and rubbed a hand down his face._

_"I should go see how he is. I might be able to help him out a little, figure out what he's been dosed with."_

_"I don't know if that's a good idea," Steve frowned, but Phil spoke over the top of him._

_"I was hoping you'd say that, Dr Banner. Dr Simmons, one of my team members, is trying to isolate the compound and I'm sure she could use the help. If you're feeling more yourself, I could escort you down?"_

_Bruce was up out of the bed and pulling on the clothes Tony had bought him without a thought for modesty. He needed to see Clint. Needed to._

* * *

_Clint shivered. He could feel eyes on him. It was a familiar feeling. But he didn't turn around or look up or do anything to let the watcher know she'd been spotted. If Clint saw better from a distance, Natasha understood through observation. Besides, he owed her this. He'd been lying to her for their whole friendship. At first because he didn't know or trust her, then because he felt guilty and bad and wrong. She'd been raised in the Red Room. She'd never had a chance the way he had. He'd had parents (not good ones, but still) and a brother (yeah, he was kind of dick, but...) and the circus (and okay they'd beaten and abandoned him...). She'd been born as a weapon and raised into something terrible and beautiful._

_He was just a messed up broken toy. He couldn't play 'compare tragic back stories' with her because she would win, hands down. And if she knew what had been done to him she would want to discuss and help and maybe she'd want to get rid of him. Because she had turned her back story into something amazing. She'd written her own next chapter. He was still living in the past._

_Better to pretend she's not there, not watching._

* * *

_"How is he?" Bruce asked as they made their way through the identical grey corridors. "Really."_

_"He's exposed, desperate, and hurting. And he can't hide the way he usually does. I've turned off monitoring and given orders to keep everyone away unless it's an emergency or somehow medically relevant."_

_"Good. Thank you for that."_

_"I care about him too you know."_

_They came to a halt outside a door that looked identical to a dozen others they'd passed. Coulson pressed a button and the door slid open._

_"Clint?" Bruce asked, stepping into the room. He froze for a second and then rushed forward. Clint had his forearm in his mouth and was biting down so hard that rivulets of blood were running down into the crook of his elbow. "Clint! Shit, don't, please." He put his hands on Clint's shoulders and squeezed tightly. "Stop."_

_Clint made a muffled noise into his arm, which Bruce interpreted as 'can't'. He moved his hands up to cradle Clint's face between his hands and pressed his thumbs into the corner of the other man's jaw, forcing his teeth apart. He then pried Clint's arm away and down to his side._

_As soon as the arm was away from his mouth, Clint began talking in a low steady monotone._

_"Hurts, can't, Bruce, please, can't..."_

_"Pressured speech," Bruce muttered. He glanced back and saw Coulson was standing frozen, horrified, behind him. "Can you fetch a first aid kit please? And whatever details your Dr Simmons has on this drug."_

_Phil turned and left, grateful for something to do._

_"Clint?" Bruce said gently, squeezing the back of Clint's neck. "What's the first rule?"_

_"I may not harm myself or through inaction allow myself to come to harm." It rolled quickly, easily, off his tongue. Bruce's rules were different but similar to Coulson's, and Clint realised suddenly that he'd broken both their rules. He flinched._

_"What's the second rule?"_

_"To follow orders except when they conflict with the first rule."_

_"Good. And rule number three?"_

_"To tell you or someone else when I'm hurting or if I need something."_

_"Right. That's good, Clint. You got them all right," some of the tension leaked out of Clint at that and he leaned his head forward against Bruce. "Now, would it help if I ordered you to be quiet?"_

_"No. I can't stop. It's okay for a while, but if it's too quiet for too long, then I just start talking and can't stop. And while I'm talking I don't even want to stop, but then I hear what I'm saying and I just want it to be quiet again." His voice got faster and more desperate as he spoke, and Bruce squeezed his neck a little tighter._

_"Sh, sh. You're okay. No one is listening. I've got you."_

_Clint let out a long unsteady breath and Bruce held him tightly against him._

_"There's insects under my skin. I can't... everything is itching and too tight and I can't... I can't... and I broke the rules, didn't I? Are you angry? If you're going to punish me you should tell me. I mean, I know you don't have to and I know I broke the rules, but I can't... and I can't stop saying things and it seems okay when I'm talking but when it gets quiet I think too much and I know that I shouldn't be saying the things I'm saying and I almost told the pretty doctor lady that I was broken and I got on my knees for Coulson in front of everybody and I don't like this."_

_"Okay, I'm here now. I'm in control. I've got you." He thought for a moment as Clint kept talking quickly and quietly. "You remember when you showed me your arrows? I want you to list every arrow you've ever tried and describe how you designed them. Tell me how you have to compensate for the different types to make the shot."_

_Clint shuddered, took a deep breath, and started talking. The tension drained out of him as he began talking on the 'safe' subject._

_"Well, first of all there's the net arrow..."_

_Phil, with his ever impeccable timing, walked in through the door with the first aid kit. He handed it off to Bruce, and put his hand on the back of Clint's neck as Bruce reluctantly eased away from Clint to treat the bite mark. He cleaned the injury gently, getting rid of all the blood that had spilled down and then he pressed a dressing over the wound._

_"Simmons caught me in the hallway. She said that they still haven't been able to identify all the components of the drug. But she thinks that, given the delivery method, it's supposed to be absorbed through the skin. Clint's injury meant it got into the blood stream, which... well, it isn't good."_

_"It means that Clint's symptoms will be more extreme than was intended and that he got a higher dose than he was supposed to."_

_"Yes."_

_"Wonderful."_

_"...Boomerang arrow, it comes back to you in the end. It's great, but you have to be careful to time it right. If you look away at the wrong moment it hits you instead of I don't like it here. It smells wrong and none of my things are here and it's like the room they put me in when Coulson stole me and like the room they put me in after Loki and I don't like it. But I do like the boomerang arrow. Got to respect the gear. Not everyone understands that..."_

_"Do I have permission to take him back to the Tower?"_

_"Are you sure you want to? He's... vulnerable like this. You know how he values his privacy. Wouldn't his apartment be better?"_

_"First, I don't think the team want to let him out of their sight right now, or at least they don't want him on his own. If I take him back to his apartment they'll want to come too, but if we go to my place at the Tower, they'll respect that because it's their territory too. Secondly, the Tower has better security and its own medical facilities. It's possible that he'll have ill effects from the chemical; some disinhibitors can depress respiration or cause hallucinations."_

_"Okay." Phil hesitated for a moment. "Could I come? I know that your arrangement with him supersedes mine, but..."_

_"Of course. I know you love him too." Bruce's turn to hesitate. "Did he really go to his knees for you in front of everyone?"_

_"He did." Coulson sighed. Bruce frowned and Clint rubbed a hand across his mouth._

_"Don't be mad, okay?" Clint said as the two men pulled him to his feet. He leaned heavily on Bruce, nuzzling into Bruce's neck. He was favouring his injured leg. "I'll be good, I promise, I'll be so good for you."_

_"I'm not mad. And you're always good for me." He got Clint up against the wall and leaned there with him. "Can you be quiet for me? Huh?"_

_"I don't, I don't think I can. I can't stop, sorry, sorry. I'll try."_

_"No, it's okay. You're okay. Just... um..." He glanced at Phil. "My first instinct is to give him my fingers. He won't bite me, but having people see him like that would hurt him as much as them hearing what he says would."_

_"I think you were on the right track before." Phil rubbed a hand down Clint's shoulder. "Clint, I want you to listen to me. Focus on what I'm telling you."_

_"Sir?"_

_"That's good. I want you to tell me how to make coconut and pineapple scones. And you know how I am with baking, so I need you to concentrate. Don't stop or get distracted, just tell me exactly how to bake them. And when you're done with that, I want you to go straight on to the recipe for your chocolate fondant, okay?"_

_"Yes sir, thank you sir," they pulled him back upright and started out the door, heading to meet the other Avengers, "first thing you need to do is pre-heat the oven to 375. I know you Boss, you'd get everything organised, all the ingredients out, but you always forget the oven takes a while to heat up. Then you've got to..."_

* * *

It had come pouring out when they were in transit. It was... Clint bashed his head against the railing again. Bruce was all tense and in his post-hulk spare clothes and after hulking, Bruce mostly just wanted to relax. He was usually exhausted and sometimes, most of the time, Clint wanted to help him relax. So, Clint did what was perfectly natural for him and nuzzled into Bruce's neck, talking too loud and too truthfully. And then Stark had been all 'Wait, are you two fucking?' and Steve had blushed and Natasha had smirked and someone (Clint thought it might have been Thor) had asked when the joyous occasion had occurred and Clint had told them. He'd told them about how Bruce had been there for him after his owner had died, and then Bruce was pushing two fingers into his mouth and telling him to suck and Clint had sucked because it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

He'd barely noticed the long moment of dense silence followed by a single question.

He should have noticed. He was supposed to be better than this.

He hated drugs. Hated them. Hated being out of control.


	3. Chapter 3

**As always, see end for warnings.**

* * *

_"Owner?"_

_"It's not what it sounds like."_

_"It's exactly what it sounds like, but further explanations will have to wait."_

_"Phil," Bruce had said, sounding sad, stroking Clint's arm with the hand not in Clint's mouth, "I thought we'd dealt with this."_

_"We have and I understand your point, but I am not going to lie about my role in things. Not when he can't." And Phil had smiled a sad crooked smile._

_"Clint," Steve had said, voice careful, tone steady. "Are you okay with Phil being here?"_

_Clint had pulled off Bruce's fingers, a confused look on his face._

_"Of course," he'd said like it was that easy. "He stole me. He took care of me." He pressed into Bruce's side and started mouthing at Bruce's neck. Bruce flushed slightly, but he didn't push Clint away. He'd just ran his fingers through Clint's hair and tried to act as though everything was perfectly normal._

* * *

And at the time, it had seemed totally normal to Clint, that was part of what was bothering Clint now. He had been so relaxed, so at ease. And that wasn't normal for him at all. He was so used to spending his time trying to figure out what was appropriate and what he wanted, that now it was like his skin was too big for him. He just wanted to curl up and hide and wait for things to get better.

He couldn't even look at Bruce.

Was that what he was really like? If he hadn't been through what he'd been through, was that how he'd feel all the time? Was that how normal people feel all the time? Did they just know what they want and do it? He curled closer into himself.

The balcony door opened and Phil stepped out.

"I'm surprised they let you out here."

"Honestly, so am I." He had a blanket across his arm and he draped it over Clint. He smiled a crooked smile. "They probably are too, but having Bruce back me up helped." He glanced around. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Natasha is around somewhere keeping her eye on you. She seemed pretty worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me," there was no crack of command in his tone, but Clint flinched anyway. The drug may be out of his system (finally, hopefully), but his walls hadn't quite grown back yet. Phil immediately looked apologetic and held up his hands. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Are you angry at me?"

"What?"

"I told everyone everything. I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't mine to say."

"I'm not angry at you. And it's always been yours to tell. I wasn't angry when you told Bruce, was I?"

"No. But that was different. You were apologising. You gave me him so I wouldn't be angry at you anymore."

Phil didn't say anything for a long moment, his mouth working silently as he tried to find a response to that. That was... a unique way of looking at what had happened.

"Is that what you really think happened?"

"No," Clint replied, "but that's what it feels like sometimes. And you told me not to tell anyone when we first started doing what we did, and I never did until you weren't dead. We might not have an arrangement anymore, but..." He shrugged.

"I should never have let us get in so deep." Phil sighed, and pulled the blanket more firmly around Clint. It had slipped when he shrugged.

"You did what you could. It's my fault. I can't get my head around how things have changed. I should be better than this. How many years have I been out of that place? And I still need... I.." He smacked his head back against the railing once, twice, three times.

"Stop that. Come inside."

"No. I need to think."

Phil stood there for a moment, wavering. He could make Clint comply with a few words, and force their relationship back in time. Or he could leave Clint there, in the cold.

Neither option was really appealing. Phil hesitated for a long moment, then he looked at Clint, really looked at him. Clint was hunched in on himself, turned slightly away from Phil. Everything about his posture screamed that he expected to be dragged back inside and forced to obey. Ithurt, how much Clint still expected to be forced after all these years. And there was nothing he could do. He'd tried so hard over the years, but right now there was nothing he could do. Maybe Clint was trapped in his memories, or maybe Phil was reading too much into this. But he thought that might be it. That Clint was having difficulty separating the past from the present. Not that he could blame him, given what had happened...

* * *

"_Please. Don't. I'll... if you want me to, I'll kill him. I'll shoot him. Just... please. I'll be good." They'd gotten inside, and they were on their way to Bruce's floor, but Clint had suddenly dragged himself away from the team and dropped to the floor, cowering against the wall._

_"Fuck," Bruce had said in his usual conversational tone. His eyes flashed green and he took a deep breath. "Fuck," he repeated._

_"What's going on?" Steve asked, looking between Bruce and Clint. They'd all frozen where they stood, a careful distance back from the archer on the floor._

_"He's hallucinating." Bruce ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "It's a common side effect of a lot of disinhibitors. And given the dose he got..." He sighed. "The chemical was supposed to be metabolised through the skin, but Clint got a dose directly into the blood stream. That means it's affected him more quickly, but it's still in his system. The dose he got to his skin is just entering his system, meaning that the chemical is at its highest point right about now." Through all this Clint was begging someone unseen to stop, please, promising to be good. "We need to keep an eye on him. His breathing might be compromised."_

_"We should get him straight to the med wing," Tony frowned. "We can keep an eye on him better there."_

_"Haven't you learned your lesson about watching people?" Bruce snapped. He immediately regretted it, the look on Tony's face... "No, we're taking him to my floor. You can bring the equipment to us."_

_"I didn't, please, I didn't, I was good. I didn't make a mess." Clint pressed closer to the wall. "I, please, I was good."_

_Bruce crouched down and reached out a careful hand._

_"Clint? Can you come with me?"_

_Clint lashed out, barring his teeth. He knocked Bruce to the floor and then Thor and Steve were there holding him down. He struggled and thrashed and cried out and Natasha had to look away. Phil, on the other hand, forced himself to watch. Bruce sat where Clint had knocked him, unable to look away._

_After the hallucinations passed, and Clint was as lucid as he could be with the drug in his system, he didn't seem to have any memory of what had passed. He seemed relaxed. Completely at ease. He talked unendingly. He told them when his leg hurt, when he was hungry, thirsty, tired. He spoke candidly about his love and confusion over Phil and his dedication and trust of Bruce. He even talked about how much the team confused him. Phil and Bruce had both sensed that he was uneasy around the others, but they just put it back to past misunderstandings. Neither of them had realised just how bewildered Clint was by a whole group of people who liked him and wanted to spend time with him without asking anything in return. The rest of the team seemed as confused by that as they had been about his hallucination, and Bruce quickly offered Clint a kiss to quiet him. It worked, for a moment anyway. _

_It was terrifying- and enlightening- seeing him like that. A lot of what was said, Phil had suspected, but hearing it confirmed... he hated it. He hated that Clint felt that way. And he hated himself for not being able to fix it. _

* * *

"Fine," Phil said. "I could make you, you know. I could make you come inside. But I'm not going to. No one here would make you. But every single person in there just wants to know that you're okay. I know that's hard for you to understand. It would mean a lot to us if you'd come inside."

"You don't understand. They all saw. They all know. I... it never works out well for me, when people know me like that."

"I know you don't like being vulnerable."

"Don't like?" Clint laughed. "Don't like? That's not even close to..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Every bad thing that's ever happened to me, every time I've really been hurt, it's because people get too close. It's because I trust people too much. And like an idiot, I keep on trusting." There was such contempt for himself in his tone. It broke Phil's heart, especially because he knew Clint really meant it. He'd said similarly vile things about himself while under the influence.

"You're right, trusting people does mean that you can be hurt. When you trust someone you give them power over you. But trust has its rewards too. I know you trust Bruce. Everything you do with him, that's because of trust."

"That's different."

"No it's really not."

"I don't want to have this conversation. I'm out here because I want to be left alone." He tried so hard. He kept up his face. He pretended he didn't care and he was good at it too. He had everyone believing he was a cocky, proud, self assured human being. And that was just how he liked it. But now... now every single person he cared about, every person he trusted to have his back, had broken him open and seen his insides. He was broken and now they all knew it.

"I'll leave you alone if that's what you really want. I can get the others to leave you alone too if you ask me. But I don't think that's what you really need."

"And you always know better than me about my needs, don't you?" Phil physically flinched. He wet his lips and took a step back.

"We'll leave you alone," he said. He didn't turn around to leave, he just stepped backwards until he was back inside, as though he was almost fading away.

Clint hit his head against the railing again. He was cold and tired and his leg hurt and his head hurt and he wanted to go home. But... was he allowed to leave the Tower? He was under medical observation. And did he want to leave without Bruce? And if he did, would they let him? It was a moot point anyway. He would have to go past the others to get out. And he didn't want to see them. He didn't want them to see him.

He could go down the outside of the Tower. But he didn't have any equipment, and contrary to popular belief, using the blanket to scale down the wall wouldn't get him very far.

He considered it for a moment anyway.

Natasha stayed still and silent and watched.

* * *

_Bruce got Clint into the apartment and Thor carried the equipment they needed in after them. Phil went to follow, but Steve took hold of his arm, not quite hard enough to be painful and pulled him back._

_"I think you had better explain," he said. Phil glanced around, seeing the worry and fear in Natasha's eyes and the cautious disbelief in Tony's. He sighed. This should really wait until he could talk to Clint, until they could decide what should be said, but... he would be no help to Clint if they shut him away or kept them apart._

_"Let's go and sit down. It's a long story." He tugged his arm and was relieved when Steve released him. He led the way to the elevator and took them to the communal floor where they gathered in the living room. Phil and Tony and Steve and Natasha, Thor and Bruce still being with Clint. They all sat down, Phil taking an armchair so the others didn't have to sit beside him. Phil rubbed a hand across his aching forehead and tried to think where to begin._

_"You all know some of Clint's history. His home life, his time with the circus, how that ended. But you don't know everything. I know he's implied that he was nearly eighteen when he left the circus, when Trickshot and Barney betrayed him." he took a breath. "He was actually fourteen. He was on the streets for a week or two before he was picked up by someone. Someone who had been sent by Trickshot. They'd been told what he looked like, how he was injured, where he'd been left and they took him easily." His hands were shaking, and he balled them into fists. "I'm not sure how long exactly it was that they had him. Years. They trained him to follow orders without question. They trained him to be a killer. They taught him he was only worth anything when he was doing as he was told. We found him bound and gagged on his knees in a tiny dark room and terrified at the sight of people he didn't know. I stole him. That's what he always says. I didn't rescue him or spirit him away, I stole him."_

_"How... I mean, why..." Steve tried, and then trailed off shaking his head. Tony put a hand on his wrist._

_"What happened next?"_

_"He either couldn't or wouldn't function on his own. The only way he could understand what was happening to him was if it was put in terms of orders and ownership. He was never treated badly. He had medical care and a therapist and we made it clear that he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to." He swallowed. "We made it clear."_

_"So you took a broken boy and made him a slave to SHIELD," Natasha said, her voice quiet._

_"No, it wasn't like that. We did the best we could. We made it clear he was free to make his own decisions, Natasha. And he understood, or you wouldn't be here." She inclined her head slightly. "It changed over the years, to something..." he shook his head. "I was his owner, that's what he said. I stole him so he belonged to me and I take care of my things. He had trouble coping with his own feelings and making his own choices. He needed time and care and space to know what he wanted. And I gave him that, or I tried to. I don't know if I did the right thing or not, or if I held him back, but I did the best I could. I was just handed this... responsibility, in the most difficult circumstances and he wasn't... he was a human being who needed to know there was someone there to take care of him."_

_"And then you died," Tony said. "You know, this explains a lot."_

_"By the time I was back on my feet, Clint had an apartment and was looking at getting a boyfriend and was working well with a team. He was doing a thousand times better than he ever had with me. So I decided to give him his freedom." Phil shrugged. To him, it was that simple. Clint hadn't needed him anymore, and it wouldn't be fair for Phil to want him to._

* * *

Chapter warnings:

**A lot of Phil!Angst in this one. Self esteem issues. I also realised I should warn for hints of non-con as Clint is under the influence and has some sexual contact with Bruce, even if they don't have sex.**


	4. Chapter 4

Steve stood just inside the balcony door and watched Clint curl tighter against the wind. It was starting to rain. He put a hand against the glass.

"You're thinking about ordering him to come inside," Phil said from behind him, his tone wry. "Don't. It won't end well."

"He must be freezing."

"He is."

"If he'd just come inside, we could talk. Let him know it's not going to change anything."

"Does he have free will?" Steve frowned and turned to face Phil.

"What?"

"Does he have free will?"

"Of course he does."

"Then it's up to him. If he wants to stay out there, then we should let him. If it gets too serious, Bruce will step in and ask him to come inside."

"Should I... everyone else seems to be taking it in turns to go see him."

"It's difficult, isn't it? You want to let him know he's not alone, but he clearly wants his space." Phil sighed. "You should respect his wishes. The rest of us aren't very good at that."

"I think I understand what you did a little better now. I mean, I don't want to control him, I just want him to come inside where it's safe and dry."

"You want to protect him. We all do."

"I keep thinking that if I was out there, I wouldn't want anybody bothering me..." he paused, smiled a little ruefully and shook his head. "But then, Tony's dragged me out of the room when a war show came on, Natasha's prodded me into going out when all I've wanted to do is hide from the changes, hell, even Clint's made me take a break when I've been hitting the bag for too long."

"It's hard, walking that line. Believe me, I know." He tugged at his tie, and then removed it totally, shoving it into his pocket.

"I think I need to go and talk to him."

"Then go talk to him. Just know that if you make things worse, you will make both me and Bruce very, very angry."

Steve swallowed, and nodded. He knew he had been the most disapproving when Bruce and Phil had explained their respective relationships with Clint. But he'd thought a lot about it in the hours that had followed.

He couldn't really judge how they had acted. He hadn't done much better when confronted with the after effects of pain and trauma. His Howling Commandos had all been damaged in their own special ways. They all knew to let Morita sleep closest to the fire, not to touch Dugan without warning, and Bucky? After everything Zola had done to him, Bucky had been so strong and true and unbending; but he had also been brittle, the strangest things seemed apt to shatter him. Steve had done his best to hold them all together with orders and comfort both.

He headed towards the balcony.

* * *

"Bruce?"

"I'm here. It's just us now."

"Do they know? Did I tell them?"

"Don't worry about that now. How are you feeling?" He brushed his fingers through Clint's hair.

"I'm scared and I hurt all over and I feel kind of dizzy. Also, you look really hot in that t shirt. I'm kind of hungry. We should get pizza. Can we get pizza?"

Bruce smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

While the experience as a whole had been horrifying, Clint was sweet like this. Open, unguarded. Bruce would miss this side of him when the drug had run its course. Not that Bruce had ever needed drugs to understand Clint's wants and needs.

* * *

Steve stepped out and sat down, putting himself on the same level with Clint.

"What part of 'I want to be left alone' do you guys just not get?" Clint asked, but he sounded more resigned than annoyed.

"Just, please. Let me say what I need to say to you and then I'll go back inside. I won't even ask you to come in with me."

"Not like I can stop you."

"First off, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you were hurt. And I'm sorry you were forced to tell us about it. I want you to know that your secrets are your secrets and that we never meant to pry. Secondly, you can't think very much of me as a leader and that's something we need to talk about."

"What?" Clint's head came up and he frowned, suddenly tuned in to the conversation.

"From what you've said and the way you've been acting, you seem to think that what happened to you somehow makes you less. I don't agree with that. And I find the idea that you think I might take you off the team or treat you differently because of something that happened to you years ago insulting. Everyone on this team has been hurt. Everyone on this team has a history. You kept yours quiet and that's okay. You're still the same person you were yesterday and the say before, the only difference is that now we know how strong you are."

"I..."

"I just have one question for you."

"What?"

"Are they dead? The ones who took you and hurt you. Are they dead?"

"Yeah," Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "Coulson took care of them."

"Good. I'll see you inside when you're ready." He stood up and put his hand on Clint's shoulder, squeezing gently. He didn't miss the way Clint leaned in to the touch. Then he turned and headed back inside. There were a million other things he wanted to say to Clint, but he kept them in, knowing they wouldn't be welcome right then.

The others were all still up and waiting.

"We should all go to bed. Leave him his space. Anything that needs to be said can wait until tomorrow."

"Yeah, no. At this point, there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep." Tony stood up and clapped his hands together. "Lab, I've got things I need to be doing." He turned and headed towards the elevator. Steve wondered for a moment if he should follow him, maybe try and convince him to get a good night's sleep, but he knew Tony recharged by engineering, so he thought he should probably leave him to it. Besides, he could understand. He wasn't sure how much he was going to sleep tonight either.

"Aye," Thor said, "we serve no purpose here and may be hindering our friend. He may come inside if our presence was removed."

That got a mutter of agreement, and Thor, Steve and Tony left the room. Bruce and Phil remained, but after a moment, Phil shifted.

"I should leave too, at least for a while. His minds not in a good place right now. I don't want to do more harm than good."

"If you want to leave, leave. But don't pretend it's just for him. I know you, Phil, and I know you must be feeling guilty all over again. Right now, I don't have time for that. We've had this conversation too many times as it is, and I'm not about to tell you everything is going to be okay." Bruce rubbed a hand wearily across his face. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to... I don't want to fight. I just don't need your issues on top of everything else that has happened tonight."

"I'll go. I'm sorry, I didn't intend to make things more difficult for you." Phil stood up and put his hands in his pockets.

"I know that. You love him too, and most of the time that's fine. But right now he's desperate and scared and he told everyone everything, including your secrets. He doesn't need your judgement, even though we both know you would never judge him for something he couldn't control."

"I know that. I know how scared he is of me sometimes and I hate it. And I want to fix that. But I know you will take good care of him." he nodded, decisively. "I'll leave. But tell him..." he sighed. "Tell him he can call me if he needs me."

"Of course."

They both knew Clint wouldn't call. Not unless it was life or death.

* * *

It took a while, but eventually, Clint came back inside. He crawled, the blanket draped over his back, and he knelt at Bruce's feet, his head down. Bruce reached out and cupped his cheek.

"There you are. I've been waiting for you." Clint didn't look up, and Bruce sighed. "Clint. Want to tell me what's going on in your head right now?"

"I hate being like this."

"Like what?"

"Weak. Broken. I'm not like this. I'm strong. I can lift more than Tony and Natasha, even if I can't match Cap. I'm fast. I'm not... people aren't supposed to be able to hurt me any more."

Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath before responding.

"It always hurts, being made vulnerable. I always hate the first few moments after I turn back from Him. I'm naked, and most of the time alone, and anything could... anyone could..." he shook his head. "But it's okay. Because someone, you or Tony or Thor, comes along. And they help me up, and I carry on. And that's what's going to happen here." Bruce stood up, brushed off his pants, and then held out a hand. "Come on. Up."

Clint looked at the hand uncertainly for a moment, then let himself be pulled to his feet. The blanket fell down and puddled around his ankles, but both of them ignored it.

"Bruce?"

"We're going to go back to our rooms. You're going to take a bath. And you're going to eat something. Then we're going to go to bed. And in the morning, we'll see how you feel. If you don't want to talk to anyone, that's fine. If you want space to be alone, that's fine. The only thing I don't want you to do is hurt yourself." The words came out soft, but full of authority and Clint knew they were orders. He nodded. "Good. Come on. Let's get you warmed up."

* * *

Clint's skin felt too tight. Everything ached. There was a brightness behind his eyes and everything felt wrong. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out where he was, what was going on. The world cleared suddenly and he remembered...

He remembered.

"Hush, golubchik," familiar fingers in his hair and he had to get away. He was scrambling across the room and away because they were all there, all looking at him like he was broken and Natasha- his better half, his platonic soulmate, his sister from another mister- she was looking at him like he was a small wet kitten who needed protecting, but underneath that there was a layer of scorn, of anger, of confusion. And he couldn't take that.

He was out the door and onto the balcony and they were all shouting and chasing after him, but he locked the door behind him and curled up.

"Agent Barton," JARVIS said after some indeterminable time. Probably a long time because he was cold and it was darker than it had been before. "Agent Barton, the others are worried."

"Tell them I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to jump. And you can unlock the door."

"Very well. Do you need anything?"

Damn. He was even getting pity from the fucking computer. He leaned his head against the barrier and then Natasha climbed up from the balcony below and stepped down of the railing to stand in front of him.

"You are not weak," she said. "You are strong, galubchik. You have survived."

"I should have told you."

"I understand why you did not. I... we went through similar things, being unmade. I took my life back by claiming that. You took yours back in a different way. Phil... Coulson. Was he...?"

"He was good for me. And he only did what I asked him too. He never took advantage. And I couldn't..." he shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. "I couldn't... anything, Tasha. I was empty and broken and I couldn't... I didn't even know how I liked my coffee."

"I understand." She ran her fingers through his hair, a little rough, nails scratching at his scalp. "I shall keep the watch." And she climbed back up onto the railing, and then reached off to perch somewhere out of sight.

He felt safer and hated himself for it.

* * *

The bath was too hot, it felt like it was burning his skin. But it wasn't steaming, and he'd watched Bruce fill it. He'd used lots of cold with the hot.

"It's because you're cold," Bruce said, his arms wrapped strongly around him. "Just relax. You'll get used to it."

There were bubbles that smelled like flowers of some kind, and Clint swished through them with his fingers. As Bruce slowly ran the wet flannel over his muscles and scars, Clint let himself relax. Bruce had never looked down on him, never pitied him, no matter what Clint showed him. He never flinched.

"When they kick me off the team, don't be angry," he said and frowned at the way his voice slurred. He was more tired than he thought. Bruce didn't answer, just moved on to kneading Clint's hair with shampoo. "Bruce?"

"They aren't going to kick you off the team."

He rinsed Clint's head, careful not to get water in his eyes. It was nice, in a gentle, non-urgent way. He thought he should probably be hard, having a bath with his boyfriend, but his cock floated as limp as the rest of him, worn out.

"Sorry," he said.

"What? Why?"

"I'm not... I can, I can jerk you off. Or my mouth, I have a smart mouth." Bruce snorted, behind him and Clint frowned.

"It's okay, don't worry about it." Bruce grabbed the conditioner and worked that into Clint's hair as well. Clint let his eyes drift shut, knowing Bruce had him.

They stayed like that until the water got cold, and then Bruce slipped out from under him, sitting Clint against the wall of the tub. He got out, dried himself and grabbed another towel for Clint. He held it out.

"Come on. You'll get chills if you stay in there." Clint blinked lethargically and it took a moment to connect the towel being held steadily for him with the actions he was supposed to take. He stood up slowly, and let Bruce wrap him up. It was soft and rough at the same time and he was rubbed carefully dry. He leaned into the contact.

Bruce led him through to the bedroom, and then stood him by the bed.

"Wait there." Clint stood there, swaying a little on his feet, as Bruce went over to a seldom used drawer. Usually they both slept nude, or in boxer shorts, but they did own pyjamas. And that's what Bruce got out. He pulled on his own- a pair of Iron Man themed pants and top (a gag gift from Tony, modelled after the armour itself)- and took over a second pair (hulk themed) for Clint. He sank to his knees in front of the archer and Clint blinked trying to process. That should be the other way round...

"Lift," Bruce said, and tapped his foot. Clint did as he was told and one leg of the pyjama pants was slipped over his foot and up his calf. This repeated with his other foot. Bruce then pulled the top- which read HULK SMASH!- over Clint's head, and got his arms into the sleeves. "There," he said. "All ready for bed." He pushed Clint gently until he was sitting on the edge of the bed and then he moved away, out of the room. Clint mourned the loss of contact and closeness for a moment, then frowned and wrapped his arms around himself.

It seemed like a long time before Bruce came back.

"Hey, relax," he said, walking over to the bed, bearing a tray. "Get comfy." Clint smiled a little and shifted over to sit properly on the bed, pulling the blankets around him. Bruce came and sat down, putting the tray on his lap. His shoulder brushed Clint's. "You want to try and eat some of this yourself? I can feed you if you want?"

Clint was kind of glad he didn't have to choose what to eat, it seemed overwhelming, but he didn't know how to answer Bruce's question. There were lots of different bit and pieces on the tray, he wasn't sure where to begin eating. He found his glance drawn to the bottle of apple juice. Bruce picked it up and held it out, then, when Clint didn't take it, opened it and pressed it to Clint's lips. He took a few sips, then a bigger mouthful before Bruce pulled it away. Next he was offered some slices of fruit, Mango he thought as the taste hit his tongue. The taste of Bruce's skin followed as Clint licked a little juice off his fingers. There were graham crackers then, smeared in peanut butter. Clint worried about crumbs for a moment, but if Bruce didn't mind, then neither did he. Then came chocolate and Clint hummed happily. He pressed closer to Bruce and realized at some point he'd slipped down the bed until his cheek was resting on Bruce's chest. He ate the chocolate, and Bruce gave a rumbly little laugh and rubbed the fingers of his non-chocolaty hand through Clint's hair. He gave Clint another mouthful of apple juice, let him drain the bottle. And then he wiped his fingers on a piece of kitchen towel and put the tray on the bedside table.

"Come on," he said. "Let's sleep."

And they did.

* * *

**Translation: golubchik is Russian for 'little dove' and is used as a term of endearment. At least according to Google.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So sorry this took so long to post. I kind of hate this chapter and was trying to fix it. But I give up. :( I may take it down and work on it some more at some point. **

* * *

The next morning, Clint felt more at home in his skin. He woke up safe in Bruce's bed. His inhibitions had all fallen back into place. He felt dirty and shaky and wrung out but he was back in one piece. His cracks were papered over, his walls still fragile, but there. He rolled carefully out away from Bruce and got out of bed. He showered, despite the bath last night, and got dressed.

Clint headed for the target range. He shot for awhile, and it helped. He was himself again and he could take whatever the others dished out. He was Hawkeye, The World's Greatest Marksman. He was strong.

He stopped when his fingers started to bleed. It didn't happen often anymore. His skin was callused, thick, not quite impenetrable. But today, he bled. He put the bow away and headed to the communal kitchen. This was just a normal day. And it was his turn to cook lunch.

* * *

Bruce was in there when he got there and he got a smile and a touch on his arm, more demonstrative than Bruce usually was, but Clint had told everyone about them after all. Steve was there too.

"Clint. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Cap. I'm always fine. Soup and grilled cheese for lunch?" Clint busied himself pulling pans and ingredients out of cupboards. He grabbed chicken and vegetables from the fridge, a mountain of them, and some noodles to bulk the soup up.

"Sounds good," Steve said slowly after a moment. He watched Clint putter about, getting things ready. "Are we really not going to talk about yesterday?"

"We're really not. It's ancient history. It doesn't make me any less than I was last week."

"I know that. It's not about being less. Not one of us thinks less of you because you went through something. Not one of us would hold it against you. We all have a past."

"Whatever."

"No, this is important. You are a part of this team and no one cares what happened to you. Not in that way, anyway. It made you the man you are today, a man I am proud to call a friend."

And that was a bit much, Clint was torn between sniffing and laughing. Really it was ridiculous, but it still got to him. He forced out a hoarse chuckle and kept making lunch. It was a normal day.

* * *

Except nothing was normal. Thor kept looking at him between bites of grilled cheese, and Tony kept pushing even more than usual, his barbs and questions pointed, and Steve kept telling him everything was okay and he knew everything was okay, so shut up already and Phil was there and he kept shooting him sideways looks and he just...he looked at Bruce, helplessly.

Bruce, who always seemed to know what to do when it came to Clint, put a gentle hand on his leg beneath the table.

"Okay?" he asked.

Clint took a couple of breaths and tried to think. But really, there was only one answer to that.

"Of course. I'm with you." He gave a lopsided smile and was so busy looking at Bruce, he managed to knock over his drink when he reached for it. "Aw, juice." He hurried to grab some kitchen towel to clean it up.

"He seems fine," Steve said, and Clint paused, shoulders hunching.

"He is fine," Bruce replied, his tone easy and relaxed, and Clint felt himself loosen. Bruce actually meant that. Clint knew how he sounded when he lied. He headed back over to the table and cleaned up after himself.

"So," he said as he wiped up the mess, "I know things got a little weird. And I know I didn't exactly react in the most awesome way possible."

"Hey," Tony said, "we've all been there. Every single one of us has had days where we just want to hide. Every single one of us has ghosts in our past." It was surprisingly tactful coming from Tony.

"I know, and that's part of why I feel like such a jerk. I know about what happened to you in Afghanistan," he turned to Steve, "I know how ill you were when you were young, how many times you got beat up," he turned to Natasha, "and I know all about what they did to you." He shook his head. "It's only fair you know what happened to me."

"It's not about being fair," Steve told him sharply. "Fair has nothing to do with this."

"It's about what's best for everyone. What's best for you," Natasha put in gently. "No one wants to see you hurt." Clint sheepishly pressed his finger to the mark on the back of his head, the bruise he'd gotten from smacking it against the railing over and over again. The pain was good, grounding him in the moment. His fingers hurt too, still bloody in places.

"The rest of us, I never had a choice to hide what my life was like back then, and I know Tony didn't." Steve continued. "You had that choice and that's fine. You weren't ready to talk to us about it and it's not fair at all that you were forced to let us know before you wanted to. Your reaction..." he trailed off, sighing.

"It was normal," Bruce said. "It doesn't make you weak. It doesn't make us think any less of you. That reaction was to be expected." He forced eye contact until Clint nodded and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at Natasha, knowing she had to feel betrayed.

"Yeah, well, cutting you all out was still a dick move and I'm sorry. I just wasn't ready to let everyone in and then that choice got taken from me." Natasha just smiled a little, sadly, in response.

"It's a recurring theme," Phil put in, his tone dry, and Clint snorted. Then he outright laughed at the expressions on the faces of the others. They all seemed shocked that Phil could joke about it, but Clint's laughter was infectious, and soon they were all smiling, if not outright laughing. And it was funny because it was true. All through Clint's life he'd had his choices taken away. By his parents, by social services, by his brother, by the circus, by the people who trained him, by SHIELD, he could go on for hours listing them all. But he was ready to change the tune. Take charge, as difficult as that was.

"I would not wish to have my inner self bared for all the world to see," Thor said. "But if you ever wish to speak of what has happened, I would listen."

"I..." Clint paused, and glanced at Bruce. "That's real great of you, but I think I've got that covered."

Bruce smiled, a little smug, a little proud, and Clint smiled back.

* * *

Things didn't go back to how they were right away. In fact, they never really went back at all. Instead, they moved forwards, better understanding each other. Clint was aware of the others keeping an eye on him, but it didn't feel restrictive in the way it had before, instead it felt more like understanding. Like friendship.

"Family," Bruce had said when Clint had tried to explain. He stroked his hand through Clint's hair and Clint pressed closer.

Phil was pulled further into the group; he still had his team, he still had his life, but Clint and Bruce wouldn't just allow him to fade into the background and slowly he and Clint found a new equilibrium. A brotherhood and friendship rather than what they had.

And Clint? Clint was truly happy for the first time he could really remember. Not that he hadn't been content with Phil and SHIELD, but there's a difference between being 'content' and being happy. He was free. He had a great boyfriend, a team he trusted and who trusted him, a good place to live. And for the first time he could say what his favourite colour was.

He was happy, and that was enough.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
